Wager Challenge by LizzyPaul
Nov. 19th, 2008 07:17 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lizzypaul.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionOkay, so this is my first Due South fic. I'm still not sure I've got the voices right, but I hope you enjoy.
Title: The Price of Winning
Author: LizzyPaul
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: R
Word Count: 1450ish
Summary: Ray and Fraser make a bet.
Notes: Warning for rimming, if that’s not your thing. Also, Due South isn't mine (duh) and I'm not making money of this (more duh).
Fraser doesn’t bet money, because that would be gambling, that would be illegal, that would be Wrong, and Fraser’s world, Ray knows, is black and white and red all over, and there’s no room for a little fun wager between friends. So he stays out of the hockey pool down at the precinct (frowning in that disapproving way he has when Ray has to raid the cash jar after the Hawks loose), and bets with air the few times Ray can rope him into a poker game, but none of that means that Benton Fraser isn’t a betting man.
Ray should’ve known, looking back, Fraser sure gambled with his life often enough, but it was still a little surprising to learn that not only did Fraser have nothing against a little friendly wager (as long as money wasn’t exchanged), he damn near couldn’t turn one down.
“We’re gonna catch the guy today,” Ray muttered, stirring the chocolate into his coffee, impatient for it to melt.
Fraser, of course, was sitting down to a hearty breakfast: two eggs, bacon, two pieces of lightly buttered toast (whole grain, what else), and a glass of orange juice. Ray reluctantly accepted the piece of toast Fraser gave him; after two years of cohabitation, Fraser had changed a lot of Ray’s habits through sheer persistence, but no matter how many lectures about the importance of a nutritious breakfast he gave, Ray had never been able to stuff more down than a little toast or maybe a piece of bacon. Breakfast made him feel heavy, tired, lethargic. Fraser couldn’t logic that away,
“I think we have a bit more legwork to do first,” Fraser said diplomatically.
Ray slid his ass onto the table near Fraser’s plate, another bad habit Fraser hadn’t been able to break him of, but mostly because Ray knew Fraser didn’t really want to. “Nah, I can feel it,” he told his partner. Fraser sniffed, but didn’t say anything. Cockiness made Ray reckless, irritation at Fraser loosened his tongue. “Bet you,” he tossed off.
Fraser looked up from his breakfast, interested. “The terms?”
“Um,” Ray said, because he hadn’t really thought it out. “Uh, that thing you don’t like. Tonight you let me. After we collar Richardson.”
Ray wasn’t surprised that he and Fraser were compatible in bed; they were guys, after all, with the same urges once you peeled off all the Mountie rigidness. No, with the exception of a couple hiccups (like the Ice Cube Incident, which Ray daily tried to forget), their sex life had been the most conflict-free part of their crazy relationship. But it did surprise Ray that his partner, who had no problem licking electrical sockets or dirt or fucking arsenic, got all prim and proper at the thought of a little rimming. “It’s unhygienic, Ray,” he’d sniff whenever the subject came up. Sure, Ray loved being on the receiving end like any other red-blooded male (aside from Fraser, apparently), but what he really liked, what he really craved, was the way Fraser would just go crazy, lax all over and making noises that he never made, any other time, spread out like a feast for Ray and just responding, Mr. Logic leaving the building, the few times Ray had gotten him to agree to it. And Ray didn’t know if it was Fraser’s gentlemanly insistence on reciprocity, even when it grossed him out, or that he hated losing control, but Ray could count on one hand the number of times Fraser had surrendered to him like that.
So Fraser knew exactly what he was referring to. He blinked, and grimaced, but said, “That’s acceptable. And when we collect the necessary intelligence and arrest Mr. Richardson in two or three days, what do I get?”
“Didn’t your grandma ever tell you about counting your pigeons before they’re hatched?” Ray asked.
“Chickens, Ray.”
“Whatever.”
“And no, actually, chickens being rather scarce in the Territories.”
Ray nibbled his toast distastefully. “What do you want?”
“Hmm.” Fraser looked him over. “I want you to eat a nutritious breakfast. For a week.”
“Aw, Frase--”
“Are you backing out?” Fraser asked, raising one challenging eyebrow.
“No,” Ray grumbled. “But you could’ve at least made it interesting.”
“I’m putting your health above my more prurient interests,” Fraser said.
“Yeah, well, you’re going down, Frase. I gotta feeling.”
“Hmmm,” Fraser replied. He ran a hand up Ray’s jean-clad thigh. “I was rather hoping you did."
Ray’s breathing hitched. “We got time for your--feeling?” he asked.
In reply, Fraser slid down Ray’s zipper. And really, it could have been a tactic, running time down, making it less likely that the collar would happen that day, but with Fraser’s hand wrapped around his cock, Ray really, really didn’t care.
Fraser liked to win, but not a day went by that Ray didn’t realize he’d already won, in every way that counted.
*~*~*
“Oh dear,” Fraser said.
Ray had just about had it. “You know, any other guy would be thrilled, over the fucking moon, Fraser. I’m about to eat your ass, buddy, not take you out for a beating, and that calls for more of an ‘oh boy!’ than an ‘oh dear’.”
“If you’re frustrated with me, I have no problem postponing our arrangement until you’re more in the mood,” Fraser said.
As if butter wouldn’t melt. Ray glowered. “Oh, no, I won fair and square, and you know it.”
“Let me just go take a shower,” Fraser said, meekly.
An hour later, Ray pounded on the bathroom door. “The lake we all call Michigan is just about drained; you trying for Erie, next?” he yelled.
The shower shut off, and a few minutes later, Fraser stuck his head out. “Well, excuse me for wanting to be clean,” he said, snippily.
“You’re all pruney, I bet,” Ray sniffed.
“Well, Ray, if I’m not asthetically appealing, right now, I have no problem postponing--”
“You. Bed. Now.” Ray interrupted sharply. “Or I will kick you in the head, I swear to God.”
Fraser perked up. “Is the kick to the head an option?”
“No!”
Ray followed Fraser into the bedroom, admiring the way his towel hung low on his hips. He stripped off his clothes while Fraser hung the towel up, before walking stiffly to their bed.
Ray sat next to him. Fraser’s face was turned to the side, away from Ray, and his whole body tensed when Ray ran a hand lightly down his back.
Ray sighed.
“We really don’t have to do this,” he said.
“But you won,” Fraser said.
“Yeah, but the whole virgin sacrifice doesn’t really do it for me,” Ray said, leaning against the headboard.
Finally, Fraser turned to him. “I don’t understand why you want this so badly,” he said.
“Because you want it so badly,” Ray said. Then he shrugged. “And I like it. So sue me.”
Fraser reached his hand out, and pulled until Ray was stretched out next to him. He rolled onto his side, wrapped a hand around Ray’s neck and drew him in. His kiss was sweet, conciliatory. “I can’t deny that a part of me enjoys it, Ray,” he said. “But I also...don’t. Does that make sense?”
It did, that was the thing, and Ray felt like shit. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He kissed Fraser again, long and dirty, until Fraser was lax underneath him, just like he liked. “But I at least get top; you owe me that.”
It took a second for it to penetrate, and Ray knew the instant it did, Fraser’s brow furring up. “But you won,” he said, like Ray had just turned over his universe.
“That’s not news,” Ray said. He rolled over and opened up the nightstand drawer, grabbing the tube of lube without having to look for it. “Also, you can’t nag me about breakfast anymore. For at least a month.”
“What are you doing?” Fraser asked.
Ray gently pushed until Fraser was on his back, that gorgeous ass up on display. He took a second to mourn taking the high road. “Really, Fraser, if you can’t tell after all this time...”
“You’re changing our arrangement,” Fraser said, voice stubborn. “I didn’t agree to that.”
And that was Fraser, all the way, not even taking the way out Ray was serving up on a platter. “I don’t give a fuck,” Ray told him.
“Ray. Ray.” Fraser arched into his touch, but Ray could see the stubborn set to his jaw. Fraser wanted to take the high road, too. “You won. I agreed to the conditions...”
“Shut up, Fraser,” Ray said, then kissed him between his shoulder blades. Fraser’s eyes slid shut. So did his mouth. For a while, anyway, but Ray didn't mind the moans or gasps.
Ray could afford to be generous.
After all, he’d won a long time ago.
Title: The Price of Winning
Author: LizzyPaul
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: R
Word Count: 1450ish
Summary: Ray and Fraser make a bet.
Notes: Warning for rimming, if that’s not your thing. Also, Due South isn't mine (duh) and I'm not making money of this (more duh).
Fraser doesn’t bet money, because that would be gambling, that would be illegal, that would be Wrong, and Fraser’s world, Ray knows, is black and white and red all over, and there’s no room for a little fun wager between friends. So he stays out of the hockey pool down at the precinct (frowning in that disapproving way he has when Ray has to raid the cash jar after the Hawks loose), and bets with air the few times Ray can rope him into a poker game, but none of that means that Benton Fraser isn’t a betting man.
Ray should’ve known, looking back, Fraser sure gambled with his life often enough, but it was still a little surprising to learn that not only did Fraser have nothing against a little friendly wager (as long as money wasn’t exchanged), he damn near couldn’t turn one down.
“We’re gonna catch the guy today,” Ray muttered, stirring the chocolate into his coffee, impatient for it to melt.
Fraser, of course, was sitting down to a hearty breakfast: two eggs, bacon, two pieces of lightly buttered toast (whole grain, what else), and a glass of orange juice. Ray reluctantly accepted the piece of toast Fraser gave him; after two years of cohabitation, Fraser had changed a lot of Ray’s habits through sheer persistence, but no matter how many lectures about the importance of a nutritious breakfast he gave, Ray had never been able to stuff more down than a little toast or maybe a piece of bacon. Breakfast made him feel heavy, tired, lethargic. Fraser couldn’t logic that away,
“I think we have a bit more legwork to do first,” Fraser said diplomatically.
Ray slid his ass onto the table near Fraser’s plate, another bad habit Fraser hadn’t been able to break him of, but mostly because Ray knew Fraser didn’t really want to. “Nah, I can feel it,” he told his partner. Fraser sniffed, but didn’t say anything. Cockiness made Ray reckless, irritation at Fraser loosened his tongue. “Bet you,” he tossed off.
Fraser looked up from his breakfast, interested. “The terms?”
“Um,” Ray said, because he hadn’t really thought it out. “Uh, that thing you don’t like. Tonight you let me. After we collar Richardson.”
Ray wasn’t surprised that he and Fraser were compatible in bed; they were guys, after all, with the same urges once you peeled off all the Mountie rigidness. No, with the exception of a couple hiccups (like the Ice Cube Incident, which Ray daily tried to forget), their sex life had been the most conflict-free part of their crazy relationship. But it did surprise Ray that his partner, who had no problem licking electrical sockets or dirt or fucking arsenic, got all prim and proper at the thought of a little rimming. “It’s unhygienic, Ray,” he’d sniff whenever the subject came up. Sure, Ray loved being on the receiving end like any other red-blooded male (aside from Fraser, apparently), but what he really liked, what he really craved, was the way Fraser would just go crazy, lax all over and making noises that he never made, any other time, spread out like a feast for Ray and just responding, Mr. Logic leaving the building, the few times Ray had gotten him to agree to it. And Ray didn’t know if it was Fraser’s gentlemanly insistence on reciprocity, even when it grossed him out, or that he hated losing control, but Ray could count on one hand the number of times Fraser had surrendered to him like that.
So Fraser knew exactly what he was referring to. He blinked, and grimaced, but said, “That’s acceptable. And when we collect the necessary intelligence and arrest Mr. Richardson in two or three days, what do I get?”
“Didn’t your grandma ever tell you about counting your pigeons before they’re hatched?” Ray asked.
“Chickens, Ray.”
“Whatever.”
“And no, actually, chickens being rather scarce in the Territories.”
Ray nibbled his toast distastefully. “What do you want?”
“Hmm.” Fraser looked him over. “I want you to eat a nutritious breakfast. For a week.”
“Aw, Frase--”
“Are you backing out?” Fraser asked, raising one challenging eyebrow.
“No,” Ray grumbled. “But you could’ve at least made it interesting.”
“I’m putting your health above my more prurient interests,” Fraser said.
“Yeah, well, you’re going down, Frase. I gotta feeling.”
“Hmmm,” Fraser replied. He ran a hand up Ray’s jean-clad thigh. “I was rather hoping you did."
Ray’s breathing hitched. “We got time for your--feeling?” he asked.
In reply, Fraser slid down Ray’s zipper. And really, it could have been a tactic, running time down, making it less likely that the collar would happen that day, but with Fraser’s hand wrapped around his cock, Ray really, really didn’t care.
Fraser liked to win, but not a day went by that Ray didn’t realize he’d already won, in every way that counted.
*~*~*
“Oh dear,” Fraser said.
Ray had just about had it. “You know, any other guy would be thrilled, over the fucking moon, Fraser. I’m about to eat your ass, buddy, not take you out for a beating, and that calls for more of an ‘oh boy!’ than an ‘oh dear’.”
“If you’re frustrated with me, I have no problem postponing our arrangement until you’re more in the mood,” Fraser said.
As if butter wouldn’t melt. Ray glowered. “Oh, no, I won fair and square, and you know it.”
“Let me just go take a shower,” Fraser said, meekly.
An hour later, Ray pounded on the bathroom door. “The lake we all call Michigan is just about drained; you trying for Erie, next?” he yelled.
The shower shut off, and a few minutes later, Fraser stuck his head out. “Well, excuse me for wanting to be clean,” he said, snippily.
“You’re all pruney, I bet,” Ray sniffed.
“Well, Ray, if I’m not asthetically appealing, right now, I have no problem postponing--”
“You. Bed. Now.” Ray interrupted sharply. “Or I will kick you in the head, I swear to God.”
Fraser perked up. “Is the kick to the head an option?”
“No!”
Ray followed Fraser into the bedroom, admiring the way his towel hung low on his hips. He stripped off his clothes while Fraser hung the towel up, before walking stiffly to their bed.
Ray sat next to him. Fraser’s face was turned to the side, away from Ray, and his whole body tensed when Ray ran a hand lightly down his back.
Ray sighed.
“We really don’t have to do this,” he said.
“But you won,” Fraser said.
“Yeah, but the whole virgin sacrifice doesn’t really do it for me,” Ray said, leaning against the headboard.
Finally, Fraser turned to him. “I don’t understand why you want this so badly,” he said.
“Because you want it so badly,” Ray said. Then he shrugged. “And I like it. So sue me.”
Fraser reached his hand out, and pulled until Ray was stretched out next to him. He rolled onto his side, wrapped a hand around Ray’s neck and drew him in. His kiss was sweet, conciliatory. “I can’t deny that a part of me enjoys it, Ray,” he said. “But I also...don’t. Does that make sense?”
It did, that was the thing, and Ray felt like shit. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He kissed Fraser again, long and dirty, until Fraser was lax underneath him, just like he liked. “But I at least get top; you owe me that.”
It took a second for it to penetrate, and Ray knew the instant it did, Fraser’s brow furring up. “But you won,” he said, like Ray had just turned over his universe.
“That’s not news,” Ray said. He rolled over and opened up the nightstand drawer, grabbing the tube of lube without having to look for it. “Also, you can’t nag me about breakfast anymore. For at least a month.”
“What are you doing?” Fraser asked.
Ray gently pushed until Fraser was on his back, that gorgeous ass up on display. He took a second to mourn taking the high road. “Really, Fraser, if you can’t tell after all this time...”
“You’re changing our arrangement,” Fraser said, voice stubborn. “I didn’t agree to that.”
And that was Fraser, all the way, not even taking the way out Ray was serving up on a platter. “I don’t give a fuck,” Ray told him.
“Ray. Ray.” Fraser arched into his touch, but Ray could see the stubborn set to his jaw. Fraser wanted to take the high road, too. “You won. I agreed to the conditions...”
“Shut up, Fraser,” Ray said, then kissed him between his shoulder blades. Fraser’s eyes slid shut. So did his mouth. For a while, anyway, but Ray didn't mind the moans or gasps.
Ray could afford to be generous.
After all, he’d won a long time ago.
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